<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>together today, tomorrow, the day after by radregeneration</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940856">together today, tomorrow, the day after</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/radregeneration/pseuds/radregeneration'>radregeneration</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cooking, Dogs, Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Recovering from surgery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,336</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940856</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/radregeneration/pseuds/radregeneration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>maccready cooks dinner for deacon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Deacon/Robert Joseph MacCready</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>together today, tomorrow, the day after</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>eughh old ish fic. not sure what the ending was supposed to be, ... i might add more if i get any ideas (feel free to suggest ideas?)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Look, I know you’re a hardass, but can you play with my hair? It would really help.” Maccready groaned at his drunk boyfriend? fuckbuddy? and his behavior. He shifted Deacon in his arms, placing the other man's hand in his hair on the back of his neck.</p>
<p>"Aww, you swore! RJ swore!" Deacon giggled but complied with Maccready's attempt to tame him. He tangled his hand in the brunette locks, and leaned more of his weight on the other. "I like your mullet, Mac. It's hot."</p>
<p>"Thanks. I aim to please." He huffed. He and Deacon had been drinking to celebrate their success at killing a dozen and a half raiders and rescuing some helpless settler. The General- Nate, agent Charmer, Yijun- had congratulated them on a job well down and gave them the weekend off to themselves. However, when Curie gave the two of them once overs, she found that Deacon had apparently required knee surgery- and he thought bourbon would be a good way to rinse the Med-X out of his system. Not, Mac thought. But he wasn't going to stop Deacon. He was an adult and he could make his own choices. And Mac was there to make sure they weren't too stupid of choices. He wasn't going to fuck Deacon while he was high and drunk out of his mind, no matter how many grabs Deacon made at Mac's ass.</p>
<p>He finally got the two of them to their house- their house they had been sharing for almost two months, their house that Nate gave them as some sort of gift to celebrate their relationship- and opened the door, ignoring any peeling paint that flaked off onto their clothes. He hummed as he flicked on the lights, another gift from Nate. "Home, sweet home."</p>
<p>He laid Deacon on the couch, ignoring his drunken whining, as he went to the kitchenette. He opened the fridge, frowning at its contents. "What do you want for dinner, honey?"</p>
<p>He meant the pet name as a joke. Mostly.</p>
<p>Deacon only groaned loudly in response. Mac rolled his eyes and turned to the pantry. "Fried tatoes and cram, your favourite?"</p>
<p>The fact that Mac knew his favourite hangover food was only mildly concerning. Deacon finally put together a coherent response. "Yeaaaah. And throw out the brahmin roast in the fridge, went bad two weeks ago."</p>
<p>"Paycheck needs her dinner. Dogmeat probably took breakfast from her." Owning a dog with someone, sleeping in the same bed with someone, planning a future with someone- all too sickeningly sweet and domestic. Blech. What happened to Maccready, the big bad mercenary who talked sh- crap but took no crap from no one and blew away the heads of anyone giving him crap? Was he now some lover playing house? Something for a more sober Maccready to think about.</p>
<p>"Bad Dogmeat, bad girl. Beating up our poor little mutt and taking her bones. Shame on Dogmeat, and Charmer for letting his mongrel lord over the neighborhood pooches like this." Deacon rambled on to the ceiling as Mac got two cans of cram and a few tatoes from the cabinets above the gas stove. He opened the cans of meat, rinsed off the tatoes, a cutting  board, and a knife, and started cutting the ingredients. He ran a pot of water and set it on to boil, and went to dig through the fridge, to find the spoiled roast. After depositing the cut meat and vegetables in the pot of not yet boiling water, Mac took the crockpot half full of spoiled meat- an experiment of Curie's that didn't go quite right, but Deacon took it home, insisting it tasted just fine, and the two of them never touched it- and went to go leave through the back door, but whatever was stopped by Deacon's cry of, "Maaaac, you're leaving me? C'mon, Maaaac..."</p>
<p>"Deek, I'm just feeding Paycheck." Mac rolled his eyes again, ignoring Deacon's cries of 'what did I do wrong, I can promise to be better, just tell me what I did wrong!', and left to feed the dog. Paycheck was a descendant of a black and tan coonhound- a good cold nosed dog who could track a trail almost a month old; the breed was now usually called Blindeye tracker, on account of radioactive evolution rendering the breed blind. Some dogs had empty eye sockets, others milky white orbs. Even their puppies with other dogs were blind, but the breed, while cursed with blindness, was an excellent tracking dog.</p>
<p>One had cost Mac two paychecks, but her sniffer had quickly earned it back, thus cementing her the name Paycheck. She was currently snoozing in her dog house, painted magenta and lime by Mac himself(Deacon insisted it was an eyesore and such a good girl like Paycheck deserved better, but Mac thought it was too cool). She perked up at the smell of the roast and wagged at tail, her entire bottom half shaking in her excitement. Mac squatted next to the hound and spoke to her in a voice he reserved exclusively for dogs and children under the age of two, "Paycheck! Who's a good girl, a good girl? You are, yes, you are!"</p>
<p>He continued to speak to her as he dumped the roast into her food bowl, then he patted her head and left her to eat. The sun was setting over the settlement of Sanctuary, casting blue and purple over the houses; they had lost track of time drinking earlier, it was only just afternoon when Curie finished the knee surgery. Mac laughed at that- Deacon always said he could never say no to a good surgery, but hated Med-X. He went back inside to check on said man.</p>
<p>Maccready had found that Deacon had flopped himself off the couch and onto the floor; the usually emotionally reserved agent was sobbing quietly into the patchy rug- a side effect of the Med-X and bourbon cocktail from earlier. Mac sat down on the couch and hauled Deacon off the floor to sit next to him. Deacon stopped his wailing when he realized he was next to Mac. His sunglasses had fallen off during his drunken tantrum, and his wet eyes lit up brightly when he looked at Mac. "RJ! You didn't leave me!"</p>
<p>"No, I didn't, you idiot." Mac huffed, and leaned down to pick up Deacon's shades. Putting them on himself, he stood up, ignoring Deacon's gasp of betrayal, and went to the kitchenette to finish dinner. "Can you sit on the counter without falling over?" Mac saw Deacon nod out of the corner of his shaded vision. "Then come help me finish dinner."</p>
<p>Deacon stumbled his way to the counter, while Mac took the pot off the stove and drained the water. He poured a generous amount of cooking oil onto the boiled meat and veggies, then put it back on the stove; Deacon had climbed onto the counter, watching Mac bustle around the kitchen. Mac filled a relatively clean glass with relatively clean water and handed it to the agent. "Do you want me to get aspirin from Curie? After dinner, I mean."</p>
<p>"Shit. I don't know." Deacon mumbled, gladly accepting the water. He greedily sipped the water, while Mac stirred the frying foods. Mac took the pot off the stove when it finished, found two plates, and put an equal amount on each plate. He put the remaining food in the oven; hangover breakfast for tomorrow morning. He handed Deacon a plate and hopped up on the counter next to him, purposely bumping their shoulders together.</p>
<p>"You're making dinner tomorrow." Mac laughed, and Deacon only snorted in response. He shoved Deacon's shoulders, accidentally sending him off the counter. He caught him before he could drop his food, and Deacon settled standing between Mac's legs; Deacon blew a raspberry at him, but continued to eat.</p>
<p>"Mhm, fine. But you're going grocery shopping."</p>
<p>"Of course, you always buy bruised, overripe mutfruit."</p>
<p>"They're better that way."</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>